wrapped up by lunchtime. You hear what I'm saying?'
It took Eadie Sykes the best part of half an hour to dupe the VHS cassette she needed at Ambrym. With the dub under way, she checked her watch, wondering whether it was too early to risk a call to Kingston Crescent. One way or another, she was determined to prise J-J free from the threat of further police action. Given the prospects for the video, it was the least she owed him.
Secretan's name took Eadie through to a woman who appeared to be in charge of the Chief Supt's diary. She had a light Ulster accent and wanted to know how pressing a need she had to talk to her boss.
'Very pressing,' Eadie told her. 'If he's there, just mention a name.'
'Yours?'
'Daniel Kelly. I've made a video about him and I think Mr. Secretan should take a look.'
The assistant put Eadie on hold. Then it was suddenly Secretan himself on the line.
'Eadie Sykes?'
'That's me. I was just wondering '
'Where are you?'
'Down the road.'
'I can spare you a couple of minutes. Now would be good.'
It was less than a mile to the police station at Kingston Crescent.
Eadie left the Suzuki in a supermarket car park across the road and found a uniformed WPC waiting for her at the front desk. Secretan's office was on the first floor. The woman with the Ulster accent offered her a cup of tea or coffee.
'Coffee, please. Black.'
Secretan appeared from his office and stood aside as Eadie stepped in.
He gestured at the chair in front of his desk and opened the window.
'Beautiful day. Far too nice to be banged up in here.' He turned back into the room. 'What can I do for you?'
Eadie told him about the video. At the mention of J-J and his contribution to the camera work and the research, he nodded.
'You're talking about Joe Faraday's boy?'
'Yes.' She hesitated. 'Joe and I are good friends.'
'Is that something I should be aware of? Is it' he smiled at her 'germane?'
'I've no idea. I just thought I'd get it out of the way.' She plunged a hand into her day sack and produced the video cassette. 'This is the final cut, minus the funeral.'
'What do you do? Leave a space?'
'Yes.'
'Bit like real life, then.'
'Exactly.' Eadie was beginning to warm to this man. He was down to earth, real, and he had an easy sense of humour. 'Do you want to see it?'
'Now?'
'Why not?'
Secretan glanced at his watch, then left the office. Eadie strained to catch the brief conversation next door, then Secretan was back again.
'We've got forty minutes, tops,' he said. 'The machine's down in the corner. Best if you do the honours.'
Eadie loaded the cassette and resumed her seat. She must have seen the video dozens of times by now but in new company it always felt a subtly different experience. Secretan sat in silence through the viewing.
Twice he reached for a pen and scribbled himself a note. At the end, he nodded.
'Powerful,' he murmured. 'You've got permissions for all this stuff?'
'Every last frame.'
'And what happens now?'
Eadie explained about distribution. It would be going into schools, youth groups, colleges, anywhere an audience could spare twenty-five minutes of their busy, busy lives.
'They'd be crazy not to.'
'That's my feeling.' Eadie knelt to the player and retrieved the cassette. 'You haven't asked me about the funding yet.'
'Should I?'
'Well, yes. The way it works, I had to raise half the budget under my own steam. That meant hundreds of letters, phone calls, tantrums, you name it. In the end, I got 5000 from the Police Authority, 7000 from a businessman donated through a cut-out, and about 2000 from other sources.
'Cut-out?'
'My ex-husband. He's an accountant. Mr. Bountiful wanted to stay out of it.' She smiled and slipped the video cassette into its plastic box. 'With my 14,000, I fronted up to the local partnership. They match-fund. It's government money, as I'm sure you know.'
Secretan nodded. Eadie could see he hadn't a clue where any of this might lead.
'So?'
'So I end up with 28,000, which is fine, and I put together what you've just seen. You think it works?'
'I think it's extremely effective. In fact I'd go further. I think it's bloody excellent.'
'Good. Unfortunately, there's a problem.'
'How come?'
'The guy with the seven grand turns out to be called Bazza Mackenzie.'
Secretan allowed himself a small, private smile. There was indeed a problem.
'This film is co-sponsored by Mackenzie?'
'That's right. And in the poshest company.' She smiled. 'As you can see.'
'Why Mackenzie? What was in it for him?'
'Lots, the way he figured it. That's why I told him no deal.'
'When was this?'
'Yesterday. He was after a share of the profits. I pointed out there won't be any profits.'
'Do you know what Mackenzie does' Secretan frowned 'for a living?'
'Now I do, yes.'
'And do you know he's just been arrested for arson? On a cross-Channel ferry?'
Eadie thought about this development for a moment or two. In essence, it changed nothing.
'The fact remains he paid for the thing. Or helped to.'
'Indeed.' Secretan nodded. He pushed back his chair and went across to the window again. 'We're talking about J-J, aren't we?'
'Yes. He's on police bail. Pending further inquiries.'
Secretan said nothing. Eadie watched him at the window, deep in thought. At length, he turned back to her.
'Great film,' he extended a hand, 'and outstanding camera work Eadie got to her feet and shook his hand. Secretan started to laugh.
'I meant the video.' His hand was still out. 'There are one or two other people who ought to take a look.'
The entrance to the RSPB bird sanctuary on Farlington Marshes lies at the end of a gravel track that runs beside the main east-west motorway at the top of the city. Most birds are driven south by the incessant thunder of traffic, feasting on the rich mud flats that ring the tongue of salt marsh extending deep into Langstone Harbour. A scrap of land off the slip road from the motorway offers parking for visitors to the sanctuary. Faraday was there with five minutes to spare.
At length, eager for something to take his mind off the imminent encounter, he got out of the Mondeo and looked around. The gravel was littered with broken glass from yet another vehicle break-in and he kicked the worst of it away before slipping his Leica binoculars from their case and propping his elbows on the car roof.
On the second sweep, he caught sight of a pair of lapwings, windmilling above the salt marsh. He'd glimpsed them earlier from the road, driving down beside the harbour, and there they were, in perfect close-up. Absorbed by
